


Twinlocked

by MoriarTeapot



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 11:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9605426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoriarTeapot/pseuds/MoriarTeapot
Summary: Four years after marriage, the detective boffin Sherlock Holmes and his much-less-of-a-bachelor-now partner John Watson decide they wish to extend their family. However, parenthood is much harder than they first expected and, as their two twin boys age and mature, they find more troubles than they ever could have dreamed of.A story about the struggles of being in a dysfunctional family and the effect it has on the youngest Holmes children.





	1. "Let's have a baby"

Four years after marriage, the detective boffin Sherlock Holmes and his much-less-of-a-bachelor-now partner John Watson decided they wanted to extend their family.

It had been a warm, summer evening and Sherlock had curled up on the sofa while John busied himself with tea in the kitchen.

"Got it, Sherlock," he said as he stepped into the room, smiling at the dressing gown clad figure of his best friend and husband (although they were legally married, they had never had a ceremony. Sherlock insisted that they would "one day")

The crumpled figure rolled over to face John and took his tea with no hint of gratefulness. John was all too used to it, and settled into his own, comfortable, armchair.

"John," Sherlock began with newfound alert.

John glanced over. "Yes, Sherlock?"

"I've found a rather reputable IVF clinic that is looking for male experimental clients with the promise of creating an all-male DNA baby," Sherlock said in his eerie monotone.

"Wait, what did you say?"

"You heard me, John,"

"But... what would we want that for?"

"For the baby John, do keep up," Sherlock responded frustratedly. "Oh, don't give me that look. We both know you've wanted one since the day I asked you to dinner."

"Sherlock... we weren't together when you took me to Angelo's"

"It was a date. Now, this clinic. Call themselves Elio, or something. Have an interview open on Friday for potential couples. I've booked half 5, which is fine for you because it's your break hour."

"Wait, you've already booked?" There was an aggravated tone in John's voice.

"Problem?"

"Oh, Sherlock Holmes you wouldn't believe... hang on, how do you know my schedule?"

"Is that the time? Better be off to bed. Triple homiside to investigate in the morning. Though already quite obvious that the maid did it. Night night!" Sherlock called as he stood up, leaving his untouched tea, and walked at considerable pace towards the bedroom.

"Sherlock!" John called after him but it was too late, the detective had disappeared. 

John hated Sherlock sometimes, but it was hard to hate someone for long when you couldn't look at their cheek bones without slobbering. Why-oh-why had he had to have fallen in love with Sherlock Holmes?


	2. Birth

Ten months later

\---

John smiled at the petite woman behind the counter as he walked into work. Despite being Sherlock's partner, he'd insisted on getting a part-time job at the local doctors as an assistant nurse. He'd been offered full-time work as a doctor there, but politely declined. The nurse work was something he enjoyed, and it didn't take up too much time from his other, less conventional job.

It was on that Spring morning that Dr John Watson received the phone call that changed his life. He'd settled into his chair and was about to accept his first patient when his phone began to emit a lively tune. At first he was a little confused, sure he'd put it on silent, but soon realisation struck and he grabbed the device out of his pocket, accepted the call and shoved it against his ear.

\---

John's heart thumped as he sat in the taxi, willing it to go faster. His breaths were uneven as it pulled up in front of the hospital and he leapt out, sprinting at full speed into the building and up to the desk.

"Dr John Watson, what room, please," he wheezed at the tired-looking secretary. 

The guy smiled, and pointed to the ward.  
"Room 32, sir", he said.

John didn't have time to utter a thanks, he simply took off for room 32. He ran so fast that he didn't see a fairly tall, dark haired figure in a long coat stood by the entrance. In fact, he stumbled forward and crashed straight into the man.

"John! Good to see you arrived well," Sherlock said as he looked down at the dishevelled Dr Watson. He reached out and straightened his husband's tie - a strong habit.

"Wh-whats how's it...?" John asked as he recovered.

"It's fine, my dear. Jane's in there now. It'll be a good ten minutes before she's done."

Jane was the name of the baby's surrogate mother. Or babies', now they knew there'd be two. 

Now he knew all was well, John allowed himself to settle a little and took one of the seats along the corridor. Sherlock remained standing, deep in thought.

After what seemed like an eternity, a midwife opened the door. She gestured for the two men to come in, raising an eyebrow when she say John's medical uniform.

"Dr John Watson," he introduced and explained, offering a hand. She took it briefly before turning her focus to the plain white cradles at the edge of the room.

John walked over slowly, closely followed by Sherlock. A powerful feeling filled his heart - a mixture of excitement, anxiousness and shock.

The midwives took this as their cue to exit, along with the exhausted Jane.

Reaching the cradles, John softy took Sherlock's hand and gave it a little squeeze. He peered over at the twins.

One of the babies looked undeniably like Sherlock. He had a few strands of soft black hair, though straighter than his curly-haired father, and piercing blue eyes. He stared at the pair, wide-eyed and curious.

The other baby was a little smaller than the first, and made it obvious the pair were not identical. This tiny boy had a singular sprout of curly blonde hair atop his head and eyes that seemed to change from brown to green at every glance. He promptly stuffed his big toes in his mouth and started to giggle.

John looked up dreamily into Sherlock's eyes. The man leant over and whispered to John, his lips brushing his ear;  
"They're beautiful."

John's eyes twinkled with pride as he whispered back;  
"I know."


	3. Pirates

Four years later

\---

Hamish Watson-Holmes leapt through the air with a battle cry, slashing his cutlass and grinning wildly. He adjusted his eyepatch and swept the straight, black hair out of his face.

Meanwhile, Scott Watson-Holmes stood on the sofa and stared across the living room with the plastic telescope he'd received the earlier Christmas.

"Look out, the sea monsters are coming!" he cried as his taller brother sliced invisible creatures.

"Playing already, boys? John asked wearily as he strolled out of his and Sherlock's room.

"Yes," Scott said quietly, but he was cut off by his brother.

"This isn't a game Papa! This is war!"

"I'm sure it is," muttered as he sat down, but he couldn't help but smile. Here he was, the man, perhaps not of his dreams but much, much better, and two, beautiful, happy, healthy children.

He was sipping the tea Mrs Hudson had prepared when Sherlock stumbled out of his room in the all-famous sheet. He groaned and belly-flopped onto the sofa. Hamish and Scott dived to avoid being crushed.

"Daddy!" they giggled.

"I thought we agreed on father." Sherlock's muffled voice said through the sofa.

"Aw, give them a break, Sherlock. Wait till their older, at least."

"They are older. They start school in six weeks."

"All the more reason to have some fun now, while you can."

"I don't do fun," Sherlock replied coldly, but this turned out to be untrue when a rather heavy Hamish dropped into his back, closely followed by a fortunately lighter Scott and the usually serious detective rolled over and began to tickle them.

"Well," said John, "I'd better be off to work then."  
"Bye Mish, bye Scott," he said as the boys rushed over to plant kisses on his cheek. John stood and walked over to Sherlock, cradling his chin in his hands. 

"I'll see you later," he said, planting a soft kiss on his husband's lips. "Don't get into too much trouble!"


	4. Teenagers

221B Baker Street was surprising quiet, dismissing the usual buzz of traffic from below. Hamish was peering through the microscope he'd received on his birthday, a present from Sherlock, and Scott was finishing his homework. John had gone to the supermarket in search of milk and Sherlock was humming softly as he composed.

"Dad?" Hamish asked, looking up from his latest project - beetles - and shifting his focus to his father.

"What?" Sherlock snapped more cruelly than he'd intended. He sighed and looked up.

"Uncle Mycroft said he'd buy me a new violin but I'd have to check with you first. It is okay, isn't it?"

Sherlock couldn't hide his displeasure the mention of his brother's name but knew Hamish would be incredibly moody if he didn't give his permission and moody teenagers were second only to boredom when it came to things that made Sherlock squirm.

"I suppose so," Sherlock responded, careful to keep his voice level.

"Really?" Hamish said, slightly astonished. He'd expected to have to put up a fight.

"As long as you exercise general precautions and thank him afterward."

"Thanks, Dad," Hamish said quickly, all to wary that Sherlock could change his mind.

"We say thank you in this household. We're not thugs."

"Uh, sorry. Thank you, Dad," Hamish corrected awkwardly.

Spotting Sherlock's less-than-abysmal mood, Scott began to speak. "Hey, Dad, I go over to Sam's tonight?"

"Thought you were doing homework," Sherlock mumbled as he decoded the array of rough markings before him.

"Yeah, but I've almost done. Anyway, Pa would let me,"

Sherlock looked up and sighed, his bluey eyes tired and worn from little sleep. "Sam?"

"My friend? Blonde hair, blue eyes, lives in Hammersmith?"

"Throwing a house party tonight and you're invited?" Sherlock suggested wearily.

"Dad, it's not like that-" Scott stumbled.

Sherlock sighed. "Fine, whatever. But be back for half past nine."

"Daaaad," Scott moaned.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "I could always ask Uncle Mycroft to keep an eye on you."

Scott stopped moaning abruptly. "Half nine."


	5. Rebellion

Later that night

\---

At quarter past ten a giggling, pink-faced Scott crashed through the door of 221B. His hair was all over the place, his clothes scruffy and his wide grin ear to ear.

Sherlock and John stood on the stairs. John had his arms folded and his best "you are very much in trouble young man" on while Sherlock gazed thoughtfully into the distance looking like he'd sleepwalked down and wasn't entirely sure how he's got here.

Scott's smile faded when he saw the sternness of John's expression.

"You!" John shouted. He paused and took a breath to lower his voice. "You have no idea how worried we have been. Your father," he pointed at the still-distant Sherlock, "was on the verge of contacting the police."

Sherlock scrunched up his face. "Weeeell-"

"No." John said finally. He looked at Sherlock. "He was. And you, Mr Watson-Holmes, should be very, very disappointed in yourself."

Scott looked down at his toes. His dazed state of mind had worn off and he found himself feeling shame.

"It's late now, so we're all going to go to bed," John said in a way that could not be challenged. "We shall have a proper conversation about this in the morning."

With that, the trio made their ways up the stairs - led by John - and headed towards their bedrooms.

Once in their room, John changed into his bedclothes and settled down. Sherlock pulled off his shirt and swapped his trousers for pyjama bottoms before collapsing into bed next to him. He wriggled closer to John and put his arm around the tense man comfortingly.

"I think we should get Mycroft involved," John said, his thoughts still on his son.

Sherlock gave out a little, weary grunt. "Don't need him," he mumbled into the pillow.

"Where did we go wrong, Sherlock?" John asked. Sadness touched his voice.

Sherlock let out a softer, more sympathetic grunt and leaned closer into John, nuzzling him softly. Eventually, the soldier gave in and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's slender torso, but his eyes were still fixed on the ceiling and his mind still filled with thoughts.


	6. Kisses

Four years later

\---

Scott opened his eyes and blinked the sleep out of them. He was staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling.

Where am I?

He looked down to see that he was shirtless and that a pale arm was rested across his chest. He followed it with his eyes until it connected to the sleeping figure next to him. He smiled as he realised who it was. Sam.

Scott let himself take in his surroundings for a moment. He was lying on a soft double bed with plain white sheets. The room around him had pale blue walls and little pieces of furniture scattered around; a cluttered desk, a curved armchair piled with discarded clothes, a tall wooden closet. Light streamed in from a nearby window.

It was most certainly Sam's room, and the medium sized, blonde haired, blue eyed boy sleeping - also shirtless - next to him was most certainly Sam but he was not at all sure how he had got there.

As he tried to remember what he'd been doing the night before, the boy next to him suddenly rolled over, yawned and slowly opened his eyes. His lips curled into a smile as he saw Scott.

"Good morning," he whispered into Scott's curly hair. He planted a soft kiss on it and leant down to nibble at his ear.

"How did I..." Scott asked, his voice fading off into the distance.

Sam laughed lightly. "You were smashed."

Scott sat up straight. "Did we...?"

Sam shook his head. "No."

Scott relaxed a little. "What time is it?"

Sam reached over for his phone, which lay on the bedside cabinet. "Half eleven."

"Jesus!" Scott jumped up. "Shit, my dads'll kill me."

Sam laughed again. "Relax. You told them you were having a sleepover and spending the day."

Scott shook his head. "Can't believe I can't remember any of it."

"I can give you a recount," Sam offered gently. "But we'd better get some breakfast."

"What about your Mum? Does she know I'm..."

"She's on a business trip. She'd go mental if she knew I was spending my nights tucked up in bed with another boy."

It was Scott's turn to laugh. "I'm not sure what my dad's would say. Pa would probably get stupidly overprotective and as for Dad... well I don't know what he'd do."

"Neither do I, but breakfast," Sam said firmly and he stood up out of bed.


	7. Brothers

Later that day

\---

Scott got back home in the early evening, and as he wandered through the door of the flat he found that only Hamish was home.

"What are you looking so happy about?" Hamish interjected, partly curious, partly hostile.

Scott turned away. "None of your business," he muttered.

"Why don't you join me and Uncle Mycroft? You're welcome to, and we're working on quite an exciting project."

Scott couldn't seem to understand what was so "exciting" about filing a bunch of paperwork and simply declined politely.

"Got other stuff. Sorry."

Hamish shrugged. "Your loss. Though I don't understand what else you could be doing."

"School," Scott lied.

Hamish raised his eyebrows in a perfect imitation of Sherlock, but said no more.

Scott imagined that, one day (when he left school), he and Sam might move out and go and buy a house together somewhere out of London - out of the chaos. They could get jobs, maybe work from home. Sam was a good artist - he could do that - and Scott could work somewhere local. Do some volunteering or something. Then he could forget all about his family and how weird they were. He'd keep in touch, of course, but only through the occasional email. Only when he wanted to.

Scott suddenly felt a deep longing to escape and tears welled in his eyes. 

"I'm leaving," he said to Hamish as he made his way to the door.

"Already?" Hamish asked.

"I'm going to see friends," he lied again. "See you tomorrow, maybe."


	8. Homeless

A month later

\---

Scott muttered frustratedly to himself as he trudged down the stairs to answer the door (Mrs Hudson wasn't in).

He swung it open grumpily and began to say; "Sherlock isn't i-" he stopped. "S-Sam?" he tried to say, his voice barely a whisper. His boyfriend stood on the porch, eyes red from crying and hair rugged. He was holding a blue rucksack in his left hand so tightly that the whites of his knuckles showed and his fist shook.

"C-come in, come in," he said softly as he ushered Sam inside. He was grateful that his dads were not in, but he could tell Hamish was in the front room from the gentle sounds of violin playing drifting down the stairs.

Carefully, he helped Sam up the stairs and past the door of the flat up to his upstairs room. As he tiptoed across the doorway the playing stopped.

"What are you doing?" Hamish asked pointedly, hands on hips as he glared at his frozen brother. Sam was concealed further up the stairs.

"Um... just going to my room?" Scott said rather unconvincingly.

Hamish' mouth turned into a cruel smile. "You're up to something."

"No!" Scott denied.

"I'm telling Dad," Hamish said with a smirk.

"No! Please Mish. I'll do anything!"

"It's Hamish," Hamish announced pointedly. "Please do try to get it right."

The two stood still for a few tense moments before Hamish broke the silence with an exasperated sigh.

"Alright, I won't say anything-"

"Thank you, thank you so much Mi-Hamish," Scott said, his voice full of relief.

"But I want you to come with me for a meeting with Uncle Mycroft."

Scott looked a little dismayed.

"I'm convinced that once you get a taste you'll really enjoy it. Four PM on Friday good for you?"

Scott simply nodded, eager to get away, and rushed up to his room.

Sam had already sat himself on the bed, head in hands. Scott shut the door and bolted it, before sitting down next to him in the tiny box room - furnished with a single bed, light blue covers, and a simple desk with an office chair. Scott put his head on Sam's shoulder and nuzzled his neck. His arms slipped around him and he squeezed Sam in a warm embrace. The blonde boy looked up slowly and wiped his eyes. He sniffed. 

"It's all gone wrong, Scott," he mumbled, wiping his nose with his hoodie sleeve.

Scott kissed him on the lips. "Tell me," he whispered.

Sam looked down at his battered converse. "Mum," he muttered. He looked up at Scott. "She's kicked me out."

This seemed to set Sam off again and he began to sob. Scott grabbed a conveniently placed box of tissues and dabbed his boyfriend's eyes.

"Now, now," he said comfortingly. "What happened?"

Sam breathed out and reached out to take Scott's hand. He grasped it firmly and began to massage the pads of Scott's fingers beneath his own.

He shrugged. "She found out I was gay." He paused and took another breath. "One of her friends told her she'd seen us together and then she asked me and... and I guess I didn't see the point in lying any more so I told her."

"You're only seventeen - are you sure she doesn't just need some time?" Scott asked.

Sam shook his head. "Eighteen in two weeks. Besides, she made it pretty clear."

"Oh, Sam," Scott sighed as he wrapped his arms around him and began to rock back and forth. They fell so they were lying down on top the covers, arms entangled in each other and tears mixing with soft kisses as they savoured each other's comfort.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I would really appreciate it if you left kudos and feedback so I know if you want any more or where you'd like the story to go!


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